


The Anatomy of Love

by Sermocinare



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Background E/R, Bad Puns, Fluff, Joly's cats, M/M, Nerds in Love, science jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sermocinare/pseuds/Sermocinare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of love featuring, in no particular order: anatomy, cats, dead people, good friends and nerd humor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anatomy of Love

„We haven't met before, have we?“, the guy on the opposite side of the gurney says, looking at Joly with mild curiosity. 

Joly has seen him in the lectures – tall, scruffy, glasses – but so far, they haven't exchanged more than a nod, so Joly shakes his head.

“Combeferre. Nice to meet you,” the guy, Combeferre, says, and proffers Joly his hand. 

Joly takes it, shaking it while not trying to think about how weird it is, shaking hands with someone across a dead person's body: “Joly.” Then, he lets go, and steps down to look at the name tag that is attached to the body's toe: “And this is M. Thénardier.”

“Whom we will get to know inside out the next few weeks,” Combeferre quips, and Joly has to laugh despite himself. So Combeferre is one of those people who combat the difficulties and strangeness that comes with being an aspiring doctor with puns. Joly can live with that. Very well, actually.

The professor clears his throat, and both Joly and Combeferre turn to listen and jot down notes on what they should be doing for the next two hours. 

“Do you want the honors of the first cut?” 

Joly holds out a scalpel towards Combeferre, who shakes his head: “No, you go ahead.”

They spend the rest of their time getting underneath M. Thénardier's skin, scribbling down their observations and making drawings. 

“You've already got the doctor's handwriting down,” Joly quips, making Combeferre grin. “Then again, your drawings are really good. Say,” he looks at Combeferre, tilting his head a little, “mind if we sit down together after this is over, and I have a look at them? I can never seem to get these damn structures right. I see them, but I can't reproduce them, you know? Maybe it'll help.”

Combeferre shrugs: “Sure. I don't have anything else after this. How about we sit down at the student café? I need my fix of caffeine.”

During their walk to the café, Joly finds out that not only does Combeferre plan to become a pediatrician like himself, no, he also owns a cat. Or rather, lives with a cat and two friends, one of whom technically owns the cat since they just brought it along one evening, but really it's more of a family pet. 

“Cats don't have owners anyway,” Joly says with a shrug. “They just have people.” 

They step into the café, and Combeferre makes a beeline to the counter. Joly follows him, ordering his usual tea and then homing in on an unoccupied table. Once seated, he pulls out his phone and flicks through the pictures until he's found one, then holds the screen over at Combeferre: “These are my girls. Henrietta and Rosalind.”

Combeferre looks at the picture, then at Joly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile: “Please tell me you named them after Henrietta Lacks and Rosalind Franklin.”

“You're the first one to get it!” Joly grins from ear to ear: “This means that we were destined by fate to be anatomy partners.”

“I'll drink to that.” Combeferre raises his mug in salute.

\--

Reviewing his notes and drawings with Combeferre after class quickly becomes tradition, and since they're such a good team, they decide to extend their little study group beyond anatomy class. Combeferre has declared himself a hopeless case when it comes to microbiology and biochemistry, and Joly gladly takes up the challenge of proving him wrong. In return, Combeferre helps Joly with neuroscience. 

One passion they both share is the history of medicine. One day, coming back out of the kitchen with two mugs of tea, Joly finds Combeferre leafing through his reprint of De humani corporis fabrica, an almost childlike joy on his face. 

Joly shoos Henrietta off the table, the sorrel Abyssinian giving a mewl of protest at the clear lack of respect for her feline superiority above the mugs, and puts the tea down. 

“Where did you find it?” 

“A second-hand bookshop out in the sub-suburbs,” Joly says, stepping over to Combeferre's side. “It's amazing. The store. Their organization is shitty, I mean, they don't even sort by genre or anything, but if you bring along some time, they have some real gems in there.”

Combeferre sits down on the sofa, book still in hand, as if he just can't put it down. Joly understands that sentiment perfectly. 

“I really hope they'll be offering that course on the history of medicine again at some point. It was one of the reasons I applied here,” Combeferre says with a somewhat embarrassed grin. “I was so bummed when I found out that it's not a regular thing.”

Joly stirs some honey into his tea: “Oh yes. If they ever do that, I'll be sitting in the front row next to you.”

Combeferre smiles, and the rational part of Joly's mind chalks up the slight reddening of Combeferre's ears to the angle of the late afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window. The emotional part of him, on the other hand, does a little flip and flutter. 

After they're done revising their course material, Combeferre hangs around to drink some more tea, chat, and let himself be monopolized by Rosalind. Both of Joly's cats seem to like him, having quickly gotten over their usual standoffishness. Rosalind is lying next to Combeferre on the couch, letting her fur be scratched by Combeferre and rumbling like a tiny diesel engine. It's quite the picture of domesticity, and if it weren't for the fact that he would ruin the mood with that, Joly would get out his phone and snap a picture.

As it is, their quiet camaraderie is all too quickly brought to an end by the clock having moved forward to almost 6 pm. 

“We should get going,” Joly says, taking the last sip of his tea. 

Combeferre nods, and starts to get up, petting Rosalind one last time: “Sorry, girl. Snuggle time's over.”

Rosalind yawns, stretches and hops off the sofa, vanishing into the small bedroom. 

It's only a short walk to the Musain, and most of their friends aren't there yet when Joly and Combeferre step into the room.

“There they are! My two favorite med students!” Courfeyrac waves them over to the table where he's sitting with Enjolras. Grinning with good-natured humor, he goes on: “So tell me your scientific point of view: is it possible for two humans to grow together at the hip? Because if it is, you should be careful.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Courfeyrac, but I'm afraid there's no known case of retroactive conjoined twins,” Joly answers and sits down in the chair next to Courfeyrac.

Combeferre sits down and immediately stretches his long legs: “Besides, we'd have a hard time deciding who would be the left twin.”

“...left twin?” Enjolras gives his friend a confused look.

“You know, the evil one.”

“Oh. Well, I can see that. You're both too nice for that position.”

Joly raises an eyebrow at Enjolras and grins: “I'll have you know that I can be quite sinister.”

“True, that,” Courfeyrac says, nodding sagely. “You should count your lucky stars that your moral compass and ethical principles don't really mesh with playing Cards Against Humanity, because that man,” he points at Joly, “has a sense of humor so dark it makes black holes look shiny.”

“And yet here I am, working for the betterment of all humanity.”

“Speaking of,” Combeferre cuts into the banter, “Joly and I were throwing some ideas back and forth, and we've come up with what we think is a workable outline for next month's fundraiser.” He vanishes under the table to root around in his bag and re-emerges with a binder, out of which he pulls a couple of pages covered in tight print. By now, Combeferre knows better than to push hand-written notes on anyone. 

Enjolras and Courfeyrac put their heads together and spend the next few minutes reading over the printouts, while Joly uses the time to get something to drink for Combeferre and him. 

Shortly after Joly has returned, Enjolras leans back, taps the paper with his finger and nods at the med students: “Nice work. No, actually great work. There's really not much left for the rest of us to do, except delegating who does what.”

“Thanks, chief,” Joly says. Then, his mouth widens into a huge grin: “You could say we put a Ferre amount of work into it.”

The whole table breaks out in pained groans, with Combeferre covering his face in his hands. “God, Joly, that was horrible,” he says, his voice muffled by his fingers.

Joly waves a hand: “Psh. Lies. I know you love my puns.”

“Well, I guess I'm a bit of a masochist. And well, you and your puns are part and parcel, so...”

“Ooh. Be careful, or people might assume we are having an afferre...”

“Joly!!!”

–

“Did you know that at least one in ten people have parasites in their brain?”

“...what?” Combeferre looks up from his neurology textbook and blinks uncomprehendingly. 

“Parasites,” Joly repeats, “in their brain.”

Combeferre seems taken by surprise by this. Worried, even. “No, I didn't. Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I've got a headache,” Joly replies, frowning and looking over in the direction of the bathroom. Maybe he should take an aspirin. Or maybe he should to see his GP. 

Combeferre gives a long-suffering sigh, pushes up his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose as if he were the one with the headache: “Joly, you always get a headache when we're revising neurology. And pain in your back and knees when we're doing the skeletal system. Anyway, a headache doesn't mean you have parasites in your brain.” 

Joly glares at him: “How would you know? Besides, one of the main risk factors is having cats. It can increase your propensity towards suicidal behavior, you know.”

“Having cats?”

“No, having parasites.”

By now, Joly's fingers are twisting into each other, the thumb of his right hand digging into the palm of his left. 

As soon as Combeferre catches this, his face softens, and he reaches over, taking Joly's hands in his, gently straightening the fingers: “You've probably just overworked yourself. I mean, we've been at this for more than two hours now, without taking a break. Another fifteen minutes and I'll probably get a headache, too. So how about we call it quits for today and do something relaxing?”

Joly looks down at their hands, at Combeferre's thumb running gentle circles over the red half-moon his own nail has left in his palm. Maybe Combeferre is right. But what if he's not? What if it is something serious? Maybe not parasites, but... no. No, no. He's not going down that road. What did his therapist teach him? Step back, observe the situation and your feelings, don't get caught in it. 

He nods.

Combeferre squeezes his hands reassuringly: “Great. Hm, you know, I'm also getting hungry. What do you say to Chinese take-out and Game of Thrones?”

Joly nods again and gives Combeferre a shy smile: “Sounds good to me.”

“Then I'll order the food.” Combeferre gets up to grab his laptop from the other end of the table, then stops and looks at Joly: “Hey. How about while we wait for the food, I give you a neck and scalp massage? It could help with the tension.” He grins: “And I've been told I'm really good at it.”

Joly's smile widens: “The ex-girlfriend?”

Laughing, Combeferre shakes his head: “Well, her, too, but mostly my mom.”

“Well I hope she didn't want to simply not disappoint you then,” Joly giggles.

Ten minutes later, Joly is certain that no, Combeferre's mother wasn't just trying not to hurt her son's feelings. He is leaning his head back into Combeferre's hands, making noises that sound suspiciously close to those his girls make when they're getting their heads scratched. 

“Feeling any better?” Combeferre asks. As if he had to. 

Joly half-opens his eyes, tilting his head even more so that he can look at Combeferre and grins at him: “A lot. Thank you.”

Combeferre, probably on a whim, bends down and presses a kiss to Joly's forehead: “Good.”

Joly, also on a whim, reaches up to curl his hand around the back of Combeferre's neck, pulls him down and kisses him on the mouth.

Combeferre pulls back, and Joly sits up, his eyes widening, half-turning to Combeferre and ready to spill apologies from his lips. But before he can get even the slightest “I'm sorry!” out, Combeferre has stepped around the chair, reached out to cup Joly's face in both of his hands and is kissing him. 

Joly cranes upwards, not wanting to lose the touch of those lips again, and he doesn't, not after a second, not after a minute that seems like a lot longer, and they would have probably stayed that way until both of them had run out of breath if it hadn't been for the doorbell ringing. 

Combeferre's disappointed little sigh is echoed by Joly, but the way Combeferre smiles at him gives him reassurance that once the delivery man is gone, there's going to be more of that. And he's right. 

They do manage to eat their food while it's still warm, but Game of Thrones is all but forgotten. Kissing Combeferre is even more fun anyway, mostly because Combeferre is a really good kisser. 

“Why didn't we think of this before today?” Joly says, panting slightly, both of them breathless from not wanting to break apart. 

“Well, to be honest,” Combeferre says, squinting a little – and he's really cute with his glasses off, not that he's not cute with his glasses on - “I had thought of it before. But I wasn't sure if I'd ruin things. I wanted to kiss you, but I also wanted to be your friend, you know?”

Joly reaches up to run his fingers through Combeferre's hair, making it stick up even more: “Well, now you're my friend and kissing me. Best possible outcome, really.”

–

They are, once again, sitting in the Musain, Joly and Combeferre having occupied one of the few sofas the room has to offer. It's not an official meeting, but somehow, most of the group winds up here anyway on most evenings.

“God, you two are giving me diabetes,” Courfeyrac says, rolling his eyes at them. 

Combeferre doesn't remove his arm from around Joly's shoulders, even pulls him in a bit more, and raises an eyebrow at Courfeyrac: “For your information, Courfeyrac, diabetes is mostly due to genetic factors. And while environmental and lifestyle factors can cause it, watching two people expressing a deep and loving relationship through cuddling isn't one of them.” 

As if to prove his point, Combeferre nuzzles into Joly's hair.

“Only you could come up with that kind of answer,” Courfeyrac sighs, rolling his eyes fondly. Then, he grins: “Nah. I'm happy for you two. Now, if only Enjolras and Grantaire would get on with it... seriously, the unresolved sexual tension is killing me.”

“I've told you before and I'll gladly tell you again, I am not interested in a relationship with Grantaire,” Enjolras says from behind his newspaper.

“Is that so?” Joly lowers his voice to a stage whisper: “Well, I've seen Enjolras check out Grantaire's ass when he walked by.”

That gets Enjolras to flip down the top half of the newspaper and glare at him: “Did. Not.”

“Oh you totally did,” Joly grins. “Your denial will only serve to dig yourself deeper into that hole.”

Enjolras huffs and goes back to hiding behind his newspaper. 

Joly snickers, then sits up, slipping out of Combeferre's embrace: “I'm going to get myself more tea. You want some too, love?” 

“Sure,” Combeferre says, and gives Joly a peck on the lips.

When Joly returns with two mugs of tea, he just about catches Courfeyrac, Enjolras and Combeferre quickly leaning back from having stuck their heads together. 

“Okay, what are you three up to now?” 

“Oh, nothing,” Combeferre says with a wave of the hand that is entirely too nonchalant for him having spoken the truth. 

For a moment, Joly considers needling him a bit more, but well, he'll find out soon enough anyway, so he settles for a “Hm.”

–

“Happy Birthday!”

For a moment, all Joly can do is stand there and gape. Then, he stands there and gapes some more, because he's never had a surprise party before. 

They're all here, all of his friends, and they have decorated his small living room with balloons and streamers and even a banner. It looks really good, so it's probably been done by Grantaire. 

“Don't just stand there,” Combeferre says, stepping up to him and putting an arm around his shoulders to steer him inside, “the cats will run out.”

“...wow.” Joly looks around again, taking in everything, then shakes his head fondly: “So that's why you all have been all secretive and whispering. And I thought it was something serious.”

“This is serious,” Courfeyrac says, grinning. “It's your birthday, and the birthday of a friend is super serious business. I mean, Enjolras and Grantaire even worked together and made you a cake. They made quite a mess in the kitchen. And other places.”

Grantaire smiles smugly while Enjolras gives Courfeyrac one of his trademark glares, and oh, Joly will have to find out about that later. But for now, his attention is drawn to Feuilly, who enters the room bearing a huge cake decorated with candles and pictures drawn in colored icing, and “Happy Birthday Joly” written in Enjolras' neat handwriting. 

It's nearly enough to make Joly cry, and he rubs his hands over his face: “Oh my god. Guys. I... I don't know what to say.”

“Then don't say anything,” Combeferre says, his arm still around Joly's shoulders, and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Instead, you can blow out the candles and eat some cake.”

A short while later, everyone is sitting on the couch, chairs or on the floor, eating cake from paper plates and chattering away. Courfeyrac raises his voice above the din only to remark how good the cake tastes and how Enjolras and Graintaire should work together more often, which earns him another glare from Enjolras, albeit a less severe one. Probably because Grantaire just plopped down next to Enjolras and put an arm around his waist, dispelling any doubts about what Courfeyrac was hinting at. 

As soon as everyone has finished their cake, Combeferre gets up, raising his hands and calling for silence. For a moment, Joly has the fleeting fear that Combeferre will give a speech, but that is quickly dispelled by Combeferre announcing: “And now, ladies and gentlemen, it's time for the present!”

Combeferre reaches underneath the couch and pulls out a large box, handing it to Joly. 

Who furrows his brow in suspicion, because the box is extremely lightweight. Looking up at Combeferre, Joly quirks and eyebrow and a smirk: “You do know that I don't need more fresh air, even though my mom keeps going on about that?”

“Less snark, more opening of boxes,” Grantaire cuts in. 

“You're the one to talk about snark,” Joly shoots back, but gets about opening the box. Which does contain mostly air. Air, and an envelope.

Joly pulls out the envelope and looks at his friends: “Don't you think you went overboard with the packaging?”

“Nonsense,” Courfeyrac answers, “it was my idea. And you know that I never go overboard with anything.”

Joly gives him a smile, then opens the envelope. For the second time in just an hour, he's left speechless and gaping. When he finally regains his power of speech, all he gets out is: “...holy shit, guys. Orchestra seats for Wicked?”

“And a room in a nice hotel, so Combeferre and you can do some touristy stuff, too.”

This time, Joly doesn't care about the tears of joy that blur up his vision. Instead, he just goes around and hugs everyone. He saves Combeferre for last, because Combeferre also gets a long, deep kiss that has Grantaire wolf-whistling at them. 

–

“So, are you happy?” 

Combeferre has his arms wrapped around Joly's waist, and Joly gently lets his forehead drop against Combeferre's. 

“Hmm, let's see. I've spent the day wandering around, looking at sights, sitting at a cafe eating cake and watching the people walk by, and if that weren't enough, my boyfriend took me to a fancy restaurant and a show. Yes,” Joly leans in to kiss Combeferre, “you could say I'm quite happy right now.”

“Anything else I can do to make this day perfect?” 

“Oh, I have an idea or two.” Joly pulls back and gives Combeferre a naughty grin as he reaches up and grabs Combeferre's tie: “I think you need to brush up on your anatomy. Or rather, my anatomy.” 

Combeferre laughs, already being dragged in the direction of the bedroom: “You know I'll never grow tired of those lessons.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a birthday present for my bb, the Grantaire to my Enjolras. 
> 
> If you don't know who Henrietta Lacks and Rosalind Franklin are, I highly recommend looking them up on Wikipedia, since they're two of the most important women in modern science.


End file.
